


A Stormy Kind of Love (Five Times They Almost Kissed in the Rain and the One Time They Did)

by fairy_tale_echo



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Community: tsn_kinkmeme, Fix-It, M/M, Rain, Reconciliation, Semi-Yenta-Natalie Portman, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy_tale_echo/pseuds/fairy_tale_echo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now there's one thing Mark knows for sure. It's not <i>just</i> rain. It's never been just rain.</p><p>(or: <i>ain't love the sweetest thing?</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stormy Kind of Love (Five Times They Almost Kissed in the Rain and the One Time They Did)

_baby's got blue skies up ahead  
but in this I'm a raincloud  
[Ours is a stormy kind of love](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5WybiA263bw)  
-_U2

 _+Cambridge+_

Dustin and Chris are doing _something_ in the suite and Mark can't have _something_. He needs total silence, he needs no people in his line of sight, he needs nothing but code, code, code and making sure thefacebook runs even as it's slammed by more and more users every day which is perfect, really, but more work and more code and nothing like _something_ in his suite.

He's in his favorite study room in Widener and it's very, absolutely quiet and the coding is going great and then there's Eduardo, looming over him with angry eyes.

"Mark, what the fuck? It took me forever to track you down."

"Why would you need to track me down?" Mark asks, genuinely confused.

Eduardo does that thing where he sighs without making a sound. "Because you disappeared from the suite, oh, twelve hours ago and it seems like you only stopped by there _yesterday_ to get more Red Bull? Because you won’t reply to my emails?  Because Chris and Dustin couldn’t tell me when you slept or ate last?"

Mark's not sure when he slept or ate last, but when Wardo says it like that it seems like _a really long time ago_. Which doesn't seem so bad, because think of all the work he got done in the meantime. He shrugs, hoping to get that across to Wardo. "I had stuff to do with thefacebook. Dustin and Chris are just nags and, besides, they're not my Mom." It feels weird to say _and neither are you_ , because the way Eduardo seems to care about Mark's eating and sleeping and general existence never feels maternal or badgering.

"A person wanting to make sure you don't die of starvation in the library doesn't make someone your mother, Mark. You're leaving now, so shut down and get ready. We're going to get some _real_ food and then you're going to sleep for at least six hours, even if I have to get in bed with you and hold you there." Wardo's voice brooks no argument and until the last part, he's staring right at Mark.

But when he gets to _hold you there_ it seems like he's finally heard himself and he looks away, down at his feet, a weird flush climbing up his cheeks. And that is _totally_ weird because, for some reason he can't explain, Mark can feel the same flush, a hot jolt, run through him. Must be the lack of sleep and food.

Wardo doesn't look like he's going to take no for an answer and suddenly the idea of food, real, actual food, sounds so good to Mark he doesn't have the energy to argue. Besides, the library closes in approximately twenty three minutes, so he'd have to leave then anyway.

He turns the laptop off and starts to pack up.

++

They're standing in the main lobby.  Eduardo is letting Mark adjust his laptop bag and stretch for a few seconds. Mark stretches his neck and thinks how good to feels to stand up.  He will never admit that, of course.  Then Mark notices Eduardo giving him an appraising look.

  
"You have to take better care of yourself, Mark," he says.

"I take-"

Eduardo interrupts him. "No, you don't. You have to eat and sleep and - and think of more than _code_."

"Code is important, Wardo. Code is what makes thefacebook run which means that code is -"

Eduardo waves his hand impatiently and cuts Mark off again. "Code is not FOOD, Mark! Code is just code!  And guess what?  Thefacebook is _just_ thefacebook!  If you collapse, if you get sick, if something happens to _you_ – it’s – that’s just code. _You_ are more than code!"

Which, like, of course Mark knows that? But to hear Wardo SAY it feels somehow _different_. It reminds Mark of how Eduardo _always_ tracks him down and makes sure he's eating and sleeping, the way Mark knows he would do the same even if thefacebook never happened. Eduardo's not coming after Mark because he's the CFO of a company Mark is instrumental to. Eduardo cares about Mark because _he's Mark_ , not because he's the creator of thefacebook and, even now, as thefacebook starts to spread its wobbly wings and become something, Mark knows that's no little thing.

Mark's trying to think of something, the right thing, to say when he hears the first clap of thunder.

"Of course," Eduardo mutters under his breath.

"Hey, rain!" Mark's suddenly, stupidly, glad to have the obvious to point out.

"Of course!  Now I have to get you back to the dorms in a rainstorm while you're trying to sprint in your flip-flops to protect your laptop, which will be perfectly fine in your laptop bag _and_ you're half-dead from lack of sleep and starved. Just perfect."

By the time Wardo's finished his speech, the rain has already begun to pour.

"I do fine on no sleep, these flip-flops are really very practical, I'm not that hungry, and I promise not to worry TOO much about my laptop, OK?" Mark's not sure why he's being so reassuring.

Just as he's about to tell Wardo they can make a run for it and he won't say a single thing about his laptop, he hears a soft, feminine voice behind him. "Excuse me but ... are you Mark Zuckerberg?"

Eduardo heaves a great sigh. Mark honestly had no idea how quickly he would get tired of hearing that phrase said not as an insult but in a somewhat awed voice. But the voice behind him doesn't sound quite as starstruck or adoring as usual. Mostly it's just curiosity. That's a step-up, Mark thinks as he turns to face the girl and readies his prepared party line: "Yeah, thanks, enjoy thefacebook, we gotta go, have a good night."

He nods at Wardo, who’s making a sour face, and he turns to do the publicity smile and nod that Chris is trying so hard to hammer as a skill into Mark.

But that smile dies on Mark's face when he sees the girl. It's ... Natalie Portman.

++

"I...um....yes?" Mark answers unsteadily, as if he's not sure he's actually Mark Zuckerberg. Which maybe he isn't, because Mark Zuckerberg can't possibly be talking to _Queen Amidala_ in the lobby of Widener Library.

Wardo has turned around and is now also staring and Mark wonders if his face looks as shocked as Wardo's.

Natalie Portman is beautiful. This is perhaps the most obvious thing Mark has ever thought and yet it's so true. She doesn't look like a movie star or a supermodel exactly, just like a very beautiful girl. Mark's heard that's part of how she manages to be incognito on campus, because you expect a cover girl. She's better than a cover girl, though, because her beauty, up-close like this, seems _real_. Now she's holding her hand out, waiting for him to shake it.

Awkwardly, he does. "I'm Natalie," she says.

Wardo gives a strangled half-giggle. "Yeah, um, I - uh - know that. No, uh, what I meant was - it's nice to meet you," Mark stutters out.

She smiles softly and turns to Eduardo, waiting for him to introduce himself. "I'm - Eduardo - Saverin. Pleased - to - meet - you." his voice is halting but level.

"I just wanted to say I think thefacebook is really amazing. I don't have one because of, um, professional reasons, but I've enjoyed seeing how it's taken over the campus. It's been quite revealing, hasn't it?"

"650 people signed up on the first day," Mark responds, instantly feeling stupid. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wardo wince.

But Natalie Portman only smiles wider and nods. "Exactly! What a commentary on our social network!"

"Yes, um, thank you," Mark says.

"Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself and say that. And I, um," she looks momentarily abashed. "I heard a little of your conversation with Mr. Saverin and I -"

"He's my CFO! I mean, he's the CFO of Facebook!" Mark blurts, suddenly very concerned that Natalie Portman know that before she say anything else.

Eduardo now looks vaguely horrified but Natalie Portman seems to be taking Mark's awkwardness in stride, smiling at Eduardo. "Well, congratulations to you both, then. Excellent work."

And Mark thinks that will be the end of it, really and truly. But Natalie Portman continues. "But, Mr. Zuckerberg, I have to agree with your, um, CFO," and the way she _says_ "CFO" makes Mark's skin feel too tight and maybe he's passed out over his computer and none of this is actually happening. "Make sure you eat and sleep while you're changing the world. You should be conscious to enjoy it, after all."

She reaches into her bag and pulls out an umbrella. "I have to go, but it was nice meeting you both. Good luck with thefacebook, I can't wait to see what happens. Maybe someday they'll make a movie about you two and I can have a supporting role." Her smile is bright.

Eduardo still seems stunned but he manages to smile back at her. "No one would ever make a movie about thefacebook and us. But thank you for your kind words."

"I really liked you in _Star Wars_." It just slips out and it feels _so good_ good to say it Mark doesn't feel one bit of embarrassment.

"You know, I honestly never get tired of hearing that. Thank you." The way she's grinning makes Mark believe her. "So goodnight, gentlemen, and goodbye – until our paths cross again."

She nods once then walks, with what Mark would call an effortless grace if Mark were the kind of person who said things like that, out of the lobby, opening her umbrella and disappearing into the rain outside.

"Holy _shit_ ," Eduardo exhales.

"We have to - to - get back to - to tell - Dustin's gonna freak -" Mark's head is spinning.

"We can _update our statuses_ about it," Eduardo half-whispers.

And then Mark's laughing, he's laughing and he can't stop and he has to _move_ , he has to _go_ , he has to _feel_. He's burst out of the library and into the rain before he can think twice. He runs - he runs.

At first, he's barely aware of Eduardo running behind him but then Mark stops, lets it sink in. It's totally dark out and the rain is sheeting down and he hasn't ate or slept in he doesn't know how long and they're practically to Kirkland and Natalie fucking Portman said thefacebook was amazing and maybe running wasn't a great idea.

He takes a huge gulp of air and sees Wardo behind him, looking at him with concern. "Mark," he says, grabbing his upper arm and shaking him. "What the fuck are you doing? You can't just run off like -"

And Mark laughs, he can't help it, he might be a little delirious, but suddenly everything feels so fucking _good_. "Wardo," he gasps, really feeling Wardo's grip on his arm, really feeling every finger through the jersey fabric of his worn hoodie.

"Mark, you can't _do_ this," Wardo's voice is a little frantic.

But Mark _can_. Mark can do anything: he can make thefacebook, and he can see streams of code and connection other people can't, and he can have Natalie Portman tell him something he did was amazing, and he can be out here in the rain with Wardo _caring_ about him. He _can_.

++

"Natalie Portman, Wardo," Mark practically shouts it.

And then Wardo smiles, he really smiles, his whole face lights up and it makes Mark think of Natalie Portman, about her beauty. “ _That's how Wardo is_ ,” Mark thinks, wildly. “ _Real_.”

Mark finally lets the sensation of the rain penetrate his consciousnesses, feels how wet he is. Mark leans into Wardo's grip. Wardo's soaking wet too, of course, a big chunk of hair is plastered to his forehead and Mark suddenly wants to tell him that he looks _real_ , he looks beautiful. Mark...he's going to do something - _something_.

Wardo stands stock still and Mark leans in and feels the rain fall down and Wardo still hasn't let go of his arm and -

"What in the fuck are you two doing?" Dustin shouts. He's maybe thirty feet behind them and Mark hears his voice clear as if he's beside them.

Wardo yanks his arm away from Mark and steps back. Dustin's hurrying towards them, hunched under an umbrella. (Where the hell did he get an umbrella?)

"Chris said if I didn't go to Widener to try to find you two he was going to call campus security. I didn't think I'd find you standing out here in the rain like idiots. C'mon, then," Dustin motions towards Kirkland. "before Chris thinks we've all three disappeared."

They're shuffling towards Kirkland before Mark's even really processed that the moment has been lost. He wants to send Dustin away, to get back to Eduardo's fingers clutching his arm, his eyes wide in the rain. Wardo won't look at him and Dustin's rambling, filling up the silence.

"I mean, if I can code in the suite, you can code in the suite. What can you do at the library that you couldn't do in the suite, huh?"

"Well, meet Natalie Portman," Mark spits out. It doesn't feel as exciting as he'd planned. But it stops Dustin dead in his tracks. He spins around and stares at them.

"You're fucking kidding me."

Mark shakes his head. "No, we met her. We - she - we met her," Mark confirms.

"Oh my GOD," Dustin's mouth drops open. "You have to tell me _everything_. I want every detail, every second. Let's get an art student to do re-enactment sketches. Start talking. Right this second, start talking. What did she smell like? Wait, is that weird? Who cares? Did you mention _Star Wars_? Did you mention my name and how I'm single?"

And then, maybe, it's a little exciting and then, maybe, Mark wants to retell the unbelievable story. But before he can even open his mouth, Wardo speaks up. "Later," he says, still not meeting Mark's eyes. "We have to get you inside and get you dry and get you food. Right now.  You don't need to get sick."

Wardo tips his chin and motions Mark towards Kirkland.  Mark lets himself watch the water sluice down Eduardo's face for one more second and then moves forward.

This time, Eduardo doesn't try to touch him.

+ _New York_ +

He feels blinded by New York, as if he's bending and blurring like the lights outside the taxi window. What is Wardo's _problem_? Didn't he feel how the room changed when Sean was there? Didn't he get the vibe about how _big_ things were about to get? Why would he be mad about that?

Christy is sitting straight up now, her eyes alight. As usual, she feels like (in the taxi she now literally _is_ )a dividing line between him and Wardo that Mark can't cross. The taxi stops at his hotel first. Mark's crashing at a cheaper hotel three blocks from the more posh location Christy splurged on as a "treat" for what she probably thought was going to be a romantic Spring Break getaway.

He's sliding out of the taxi as soon as it stops. He needs to get his fingers on a keyboard, he needs to code out this jittery feeling under his skin.

"Hey, Mark, we're _talking_ about this!" Wardo protests as Mark's opening the door.

"Tomorrow," Mark mutters, already stepping outside.

"Mark, this isn't over! We're still -"

Christy cuts Wardo off, her voice sharp. "Fuck, Eduardo, come on, let him go!"

But, of course, Mark doesn't have to look back to know Wardo's thrown some bills at the taxi driver and is stepping out. As he comes around the front of the cab he sees Eduardo leaning in, whispering placating words to Christy who is glaring at Mark as if she'd like to punch him in the face. Weirdly, Christy doesn't _always_ look at Mark this way. Sometimes, they actually get along really well, sharing sarcastic eyerolls and biting comments. She's got a mean streak in her, Christy does, and Mark kinda likes it. But when it comes to Wardo's attention...well, sometimes it seems like Christy is _jealous_ of him, which is just ridiculous, right?

Wardo steps back from the cab and it zips away. The night has grown colder and the wind's picked up. Mark's already tapping his feet, anxious to be inside.  Why are they out here, again?

"Sean is-" Wardo starts and Mark remembers. _This_.

He waves a hand at Wardo, walking towards his hotel. "Look, I don't have time to talk you through whatever this is. I have things -"

He stops when Wardo reaches out and grabs his elbow. "No, Mark, damn-it, _listen_ to me."

Mark _swears_ he doesn't think about that night too often, the night a few months before when he and Wardo were caught in the rain and...and there was a _thing_ between them. But now, with Wardo grabbing his arm and sounding frantic, it's almost like – before he can finish the thought, Mark feels another strong gust of wind and, with it, a sprinkle of rain. _Seriously?_ he thinks as he turns to face Wardo.

++

  
"Listen to what? What do you have to say?" Mark half-shouts, suddenly angry for a reason he can't quite name.

Wardo lets go of his elbow and runs his hand through his hair. The light sprinkle is quickly turning into a spring storm and the rain is coming down quicker. "Mark - if you'll just keep meeting with some other investors I have lined up - I feel like Sean is not what we, what thefacebook, needs. I think-"

"Facebook. Start saying Facebook. We dropped _the_ so we need to start saying Facebook."

"Mark, that doesn't fucking matter! I want to talk about _Sean_!" Eduardo's voice is stretched thin with exasperation.

It's really raining now and Mark really wants to get inside and, most of all, he really doesn't want to be having this conversation which is completely stupid.   And, by the way, he's so tired of standing in the rain with Eduardo. 

 

He starts to back up towards his hotel. "What's there to talk about Wardo? About how he has great ideas, about how he thinks Facebook can be something amazing, about how he _believes_ in Facebook and you apparently -"

Wardo reaches up and wipes his wet face. " _I_ don't believe? _I_ am the only one who always...” He gives a short, bitter laugh.  “Look, Mark – he doesn't have capital, all he's got is vague ideas and some lofty, unformed pitch that sounds like it's a monologue from an Emmy episode of _The West Wing_! You just met the guy, Mark, what's the big fucking deal?"

He's stepped closer again, back into Mark's orbit, crowding him as Mark backs away. Mark stops dead in his tracks, surprised by Wardo walking towards him, by the rain, by Wardo yelling - _I am the only one who always_ \- and Wardo, moving forward, crashes into him.

It's a blur of rain and wet and the wind whipping faster than ever and Mark feels Wardo's weight and the scratch of his suit and he wants to step back, he's going to step back, he really is, but then Wardo is reaching out so he doesn't fall over onto the wet, slick concrete and he grabs Mark around the waist and -

Wardo is saying something, not yelling anymore, something low and soft like he’s not quite sure he wants to say it.  "Mark, _I_ believe in Facebook and I - I believe in _you_ \- that's why I - I invested and ..."

Mark stands up straight as an arrow, throwing Wardo off balance again, breaking his grasp. He steps back awkwardly, splashing into a puddle.

They stare at each other, Eduardo is right in front of his face and he somehow still seems blurry in the rain. Suddenly, Sean seems very far away. Mark wants to tell Wardo that; to let him know that, yeah, Sean's kinda dazzling and Sean's _right_ about some things they’re going to have to discuss, but he's not, well, he wasn't there from the beginning and, he’s not – he’s not – it’s not the same.

"Sean-" Mark starts, trying to explain, trying to muddle it out.

But Sean's name hits Eduardo like a slap; his face goes pale in the half-light of the rain. He steps further back into the puddle and Mark suddenly feels very cold. "Go inside," Eduardo says, his voice flat, his eyes dead. "Get out of the rain, get dry.  I'm - Christy - I'm going to my hotel. I'll call you tomorrow - go inside."

"Wardo -"

But he's already walking away, down the street, into the darkness and rain.

+ _Palo Alto_ +

 _What did you mean, get left behind?_

The words just hang there, in the air, in the silence and Mark won't answer, his juts his chin forward, stubbornly and tries to not let his gaze waver. But Wardo's eyes are the size of saucers and water is puddling underneath him and Mark's about to say something, anything, even though it's Wardo's fault because where _is_ he and why won't he listen to what Mark _just_ said and then Wardo gives a short shake of his head, splattering Mark with rain water, exhales loudly, angrily, and turns, still clutching his bag and marches out of the hallway.

Where the fuck could he be going? Mark trails after him, as he stomps through the house, past the girls on the couch and even pushing past a smirking Sean without another word. Wardo's headed ... outside? Back into the rain? Where's he going to go? None of this makes _sense_ , all of this is going _wrong_ , and Mark is NOT going to follow Wardo outside, he is absolutely not - except then he feels the rain instantly soaking him to the skin and he realizes he already has.

++

Eduardo is standing on the sidewalk, looking down the street for God knows what. Mark walks over to him, unsure of what to say. "Mark," Eduardo sputters, turning on him. "What the hell are you doing?  Get inside!"

"What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing? Where are you going to go?"

"Away from here, Mark, away from this house and Sean and the fact that there's probably not even room for me here and I - just - need - away -" he drops his bag, it makes a huge splash, and he looks so ... so ... _lost_ that Mark thinks he might be sick.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Mark asks, shaking his head, feeling rain run down his face.

Eduardo gives him a grin that seems painful. "Yes, I heard about how things were moving fast and Sean was setting up meetings and, oh yeah, I was going to get left behind. I heard all that!"

Mark wants to stomp his foot. "No, damn-it! I said I _wanted_ you to come out here!  I said I was afraid you were going to get left behind but that I – I” Mark chokes on it, suddenly afraid.  He can’t repeat it, can’t say it again.  _I need you out here._

 __“You don't _listen_!” He shouts at Wardo instead. “Why won't you listen to what I actually say not just what you're _afraid_ I'm going to say?" Anger and frustration are burning up his skin, keeping him warm in this absolutely freezing rain.

Wardo closes his eyes and just stands, the rain a black curtain all around them and his shoulders slump and Mark wants to take him inside and -

"Why didn't you tell me he was here?" he whispers, never opening his eyes.

Mark doesn't have an answer, doesn't know how to tell him about that night in the club, Sean's eyes fever-bright. _So where the hell’s Eduardo?_ Mark didn't have a good answer and he wanted one, but instead he had Sean and the club the thrum of music and _why wouldn't Wardo come out_? Didn't he _believe_?

"I don't know," Mark answers, the simple truth.

++

  
"What did you mean 'get left behind'?" Eduardo asks again, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

Mark steps towards him, doesn't care about the rain, doesn't care about how wet he is, how the cold is starting to seep into his bones and the rain keeps pouring down. He looks at Wardo's hair, plastered again to his face, thinks of the other times they've stood outside in the rain. Wardo, his eyes closed, doesn't see Mark reach out, so he can't pull away.

He grabs Wardo's shoulders, pulls him in. At first, he's just planning to hug him (which is ridiculous enough as is because Mark's not a hugger, but he can be, he thinks, if he's standing out here and the rain won't let up and he's next to Eduardo, who he hasn't seen in weeks, who is so wet he's starting to shake from it. He could be a hugger.) but Wardo opens his eyes at the touch and stares at him, wildly, like he's about to pull away and Mark can't have that _again_ , just not _again_ , just _stay still, Wardo_ , so he digs his fingers in and, awkwardly, pulls Wardo even closer, even quicker.

And then they're so close they're almost - well. Before he can think twice to regret it, Mark presses his forehead to Wardo's. And even though he's soaking wet and starting to get quite cold, it suddenly feels like he's on fire.

"Why didn't you tell me he was setting up meetings? Why didn't you tell me he was _living with you_?" Eduardo's voice cracks, painfully, and now Mark's not sure if it's just rain running down Eduardo's cheeks.

Foreheads pressed together, Mark feels the rain and their skin and Wardo keeps his eyes wide open as he asks. And Mark is _sure_ , he is, that Wardo's pressing his forehead even closer and Mark is - Mark is -

 _Mark is going to kiss Eduardo_.

THERE. He thought it. He thought the unthinkable thing, the one his mind always trails off around and the one he always pretends means something else. But it doesn't, maybe it never has, and it doesn't now, with their rain-soaked skin pressed close and Wardo looking at his mouth as if he doesn't even feel the downpour - Mark just wants _more_ , he wants to make sure Wardo doesn't cry, which sounds trite but is so true, and he _wants_ and so _Mark is going to kiss Eduardo_.

++

Just as he's about to press his wet lips to Wardo's, Wardo exhales, his voice a tremulous breath on Mark's lips. "What did you mean 'get left behind'?"

And Mark pulls back, the spell broken, the unanswerable question still hanging between them.  He still doesn't have an answer Wardo wants to hear. "You didn't hear anything I said," Mark replies, his tone almost mournful, his stomach clenching painfully.

He feels the way Wardo looks as Mark steps back from him: hollowed out, stripped bare. The damnedest thing is: he _knows_ why Wardo had to ask, he just can't understand why Wardo won't listen to the answer.

"You won't even _listen_ ," and Mark realizes that it's _his_ voice that now sounds bitter, _his_ voice that now sounds hopeless.

Maybe now it's _his_ face the tears are running down.

+ _Palo Alto_ _– take two_ +

 _It just started raining_.

"You might as well stick around the building, Mr. Zuckerberg, no need to leave in the rain for a short lunch break. We'll have an associate bring you something." Mark hears Sy's voice as if from a hundred miles away. He's watching the rain streak down the window.  
He turns and blinks at Sy, nodding emptily. Sy seems to be in good spirits, he's smiling anyway, so Mark couldn't have done that bad. Sy strides out without another look at Mark. The junior associate with short brown hair approaches him warily.

"Mr. Zuckerberg,” she begins, her voice surprisingly gentle. “I am sure that was hard for you. Can I get you -"

 _Hard for him_. Whatever, none of this could be easier for him. He listens to the rain spattering the windowpanes and waves her off, walking right out of the deposition room.

++

He's just planning to stand in the lobby and watch the rain for a little while and think about what's going on back at Facebook and maybe write some code in his head to sort himself out.

That's really the entirety of the plan – to get out of that room, to get away from the Winklevii and their _lies_ , to not have to think about that empty chair where Eduardo wasn't. That's the plan.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Mark catches sight of a tall man in a very well-tailored suit standing at the end of the block out on the sidewalk, getting drenched in the rain. He's not moving.  He's just standing in the rain.

It's Eduardo.

Mark is pushing the doors open and walking out to him before he can get a single line of code in his mind to stop himself.

++

Mark's not quite sure what he's planning to say but he really doesn't expect to find himself saying the most obvious, stupid thing possible. "It's raining."

Eduardo spins around and there's a second where Mark sees a dejected look on his face before he fixes his face in a neutral mask.

"You're an asshole," Eduardo replies, his voice flat.  “Oh, I'm sorry," Eduardo says, his voice still completely flat. "I thought we were playing a 'state the obvious' game."

Mark can't believe how much it hurts to hear Eduardo say that with an empty voice, a voice that doesn't care what happens to Mark. It almost takes Mark's breath away.

Mark bites his lips to keep the words he wants to say inside. _you still stood up for me against them, you said it didn't really have much to do with their site, you looked at me like you cared, I think._ It seems wrong to say that and, besides, he doesn't know if he could stand Eduardo disagreeing.

Instead, he just stares at Eduardo and Eduardo stares back and the rain is pouring, pouring, pouring down.

" _I should say something_ ," Mark thinks. But he has no idea what he could possibly say. He has no idea why he walked out of the office and towards Eduardo, why he bothered to speak to him or what he imagined Eduardo might say in response.

It's so rainy, it's so fucking rainy. Mark is sick of rain and wet and standing across from Eduardo and just staring and not saying anything. But there's nothing to say and there's nothing to do and it's all _wrong_. He blinks the water out of his eyes then watches water slide down Eduardo's face, tries to think of something to say.

And then Eduardo is stepping towards him, reaching out for him. He's pulling Mark in close before Mark can even think to pull away, even if he'd want to pull away. He's holding on to Mark's shoulders, yanking him close and half-hugging, half-clutching at him. It's too tight and it's all wrong and yet Mark relishes the moment of contact. It's been a long time since Eduardo touched him. Not that Mark ever kept track of that, of course.

They stand there, holding onto each other in an embrace that has no kindness in it, for another endless second. Mark doesn't ever think too closely about moments like this, these awkward moments of contact and distance, which keep happening between them in the rain. ( _do they just keep happening or do we keep_ making _them happen?_ )

Mark wants to say something, he does, more than ever, Mark wants to say something. He wants to find the perfect thing to say, the thing that could maybe make this all go away, that could explain to Eduardo what he meant to do, how it all happened, how it was a mistake, but not really, because Eduardo wasn't _there_ and he wouldn't _listen_ and it was _only business_. But none of those are the perfect thing at all, so Mark doesn't say anything, he just feels the rain and Eduardo's rough hands and pretends this is the first time this has ever happened.

Then Eduardo steps away from him, lets him go, and looks down at the ground. Mark is momentarily fascinated by the way rain droplets have caught on Eduardo's long eyelashes. Then Eduardo leans in, so close he and Mark are almost cheek to cheek.

Mark thinks, _ridiculously,_ that maybe Eduardo is about to mash their lips together in a not-at-all-gentle and burning-angry kiss. Instead, Eduardo whispers something, barely loud enough to be heard over the steady sound of the rain. But Mark _does_ hear him, hears him and knows he will never forget Eduardo's paper-thin, broken whisper.

"I just want you to know, to really know, that all those other times in the rain? _I would have let you_. I _wanted_ you to."

Before Mark can even open his mouth to protest he doesn't know what Eduardo is talking about, _no really, he doesn't_ , Eduardo has turned and is walking away from Mark, yet again, into the rain.

+ _London_ +

The only thing worse than a tech conference he has to attend is a tech conference he has to attend on a whole other continent. Mark's new PR flack Jason, hand-selected by Chris when he left, doesn't take no for an answer.  _"This is a non-negotiable one, Mark. It's f8 levels of big, there's no opting out. Several staff members are going, me included, because we need a public face everywhere on this one. You're a keynote speaker and the world wants to hear what you have to say."_   So Mark's packed up a few bags and headed to London. He'll give a big "connect the world" speech and come home. That's what Mark's life pretty much is: occasional PR events he's forced into and the actual work of Facebook, the nonstop, endless work of Facebook. He doesn't have time for more, and, anyway, he tells himself, that's the way he likes it: it's what he's always wanted. Who cares if the PR events are an hour from house or in another country?

It's been just over three years since the settlement, since Facebook rose like a phoenix from the scorched earth ashes of the lawsuit. Facebook is going to dominate the world (you can use "connect" if it makes you feel better about it) and that's just what Mark always wanted it to do, always _believed_ it could do.  That's something _amazing_ and Mark doesn't have a single regret.

Not one single regret, he reassures himself that night in London when he sees Eduardo across the room at the huge opening night reception for the conference. Not a single one.

++

Mark doesn't have a word for what he and Eduardo are now. They are people who used to know each other, a long time ago, and now they work in the same industry. If not a word, it's at least a vague description. They run into each other sometimes, very rarely.

The first time it happened was about eight months after the settlement. Eduardo approached Mark and casually stuck his hand out, as if he and Mark were random business acquaintances, his face that same neutral mask of not caring. In horror, Mark had walked away without a single word, leaving Eduardo standing there with his hand extended. Mark went directly to headquarters and stayed up coding for over 36 hours and was starting to have hallucinations. No one was there to tell him to stop, after all, no one was there to be concerned.

When he woke up on his office couch two days later, unsure of how exactly he’d ended up there, Chris and Dustin were hovering around him with worried, angry eyes.

"You're going to have to learn to suck it up and shake his hand, Mark," Chris said gently.

"These are what we call consequences, Mark, lying in the bed you made, so get the fuck over it." Dustin was not as gentle, his face pulled down into an angry frown.

It was then Mark first knew that Dustin and Chris were going to leave, sooner than later, and that he'd broken not just one friendship up but broken _all four_ of them up the second Wardo signed those papers. He felt sick. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep again, dreamed of the next time he'd see Wardo's outstretched hand.

Now, three years later, as people who used to know each other, a long time ago, and who work in the same industry, now Mark is used to shaking Eduardo's hand and nodding as if it were nothing at all. Because it isn't. It really isn't.

++

It's best to get the nothing at all out of the way as soon as possible, partially so that Mark can shut it out of his mind and partially so it stops the whispers from spreading throughout the entire room. Mark takes a deep breath, swallows a flat glass of champagne in one gulp, and crosses the room with his shoulders back and his gaze fixed. He's almost there, his eyes locked on Eduardo who is smiling and chatting with a small circle of people as if he hasn't a care in the world, when he hears Jason's voice from behind him. "Oh, Mark, there's someone you need to meet." Mark stops, partially grateful and partially frustrated at the interruption. Jason wouldn't stop him unless he thought this genuinely _was_ someone Mark needed to meet, so Mark worked on that publicity smile he was still perfecting after all these years and turned around.

That was how he found himself, the smile again slipping from his face, staring at Natalie Portman, her face luminous with a smile.

"Actually," Natalie Portman says without missing a beat. "We've already met, isn't that right, Mr. Zuckerberg?"

"Uh - um - yeah?" Mark replies, hating how she’s, yet again, made it impossible for him to give  a definitive answer to a simple question.

  
"Oh, that's right," Jason says, carelessly. "You two were at Harvard at the same time, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Mark answers. "But _she_ actually graduated."

That answer seems slightly off, maybe a little too blunt. Jason's smile falters for a second, but Natalie Portman keeps grinning, so it can't be that off.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Zuckerberg," she says, holding her hand out.

Mark shakes her hand. "Please, call me Mark."

Jason gives a minute nod of approval, so that must have been the right thing to say. "Natalie is here for a panel about microlending in the third world and how tech initiatives can help. We've been having a great conversation about how it could match up with social networking. I thought you might like to say hello, but I didn't realize you'd already met."

"It was ... I'm surprised you remember," Mark says, shrugging and sliding his gaze away from Natalie and Jason.

"Of course," Natalie Portman replies, her voice warm. "Widener, right as Facebook was taking off. It was raining that night, remember?"

Jason tilts his head to the side pleasantly, casually, but Natalie Portman is staring at Mark in the oddest way, her eyes knowing. It doesn't feel casual at all. "Um, sure, yeah, of course. I told you I liked _Star Wars_ ," Mark hedges, trying to pretend that was all that happened.

"That _is_ sort of a surprise," Jason says solicitously, a note of teasing in his voice. "I didn't know Mark watched _any_ movies, even nerd classics like _Star Wars_. I thought Mark didn't watch anything but code."

Jason laughs, again, as if it were just small talk. But Mark feels something more lurking underneath, something in Natalie Portman's cool, composed face. "I'm sure that's not true," she says, her voice soft and kind. "Besides, that's just code. You're _more_ than code, right Mark?"

In an instant, Mark is back in the lobby of Widener, concern burning up Eduardo's voice, the way he looked at Mark like Facebook was the last thing he cared about. Jason's eyebrows furrow, the comment probably doesn't make a lot of sense to him. Mark doesn't want it to make any sense to him either, but it does.

He shifts nervously, foot to foot, and has a thought he never thought would cross his mind: _he doesn't want to look at Natalie Portman_. But he does. They lock eyes and she gives him a small nod. Then, in a move so subtle Mark thinks he maybe imagined it, she moves her eyes over to where Eduardo is standing. No, her gaze holds. She knows where she's looking and she knows Mark is looking at where she's looking.

"Yeah, um, I, uh - you know," _Widener, rain, Eduardo, rain, code, rain_. "I'm trying to be conscious to enjoy it."

Natalie Portman laughs right out loud, as if she is remembering the way he and Eduardo had stood clumsily in front of her in the lobby, the way Eduardo's voice had went low and Mark's neck had flushed at the realization it was out of concern. Her laugh is a delighted sound, rich with knowing.

And Mark thinks, suddenly, viciously, how much he wants what he's just said to Natalie Portman to be _true_.

++

  
Jason is staring at Natalie Portman and Mark as if he'll be able to figure out what they're saying, what they mean, if he just concentrates really hard. But Mark knows that will never work because they're saying things without words.

"I - well. I should go. Miss Portman, it was good to talk with you and I hope your session goes well and I, um, well. I have someone, somewhere to-," Mark feels like he's already stumbling away from them, towards Eduardo, towards _Wardo_ , where he'll think of something to actually, really _say_ and -

Mark knows that unless he can get away right now Jason, his eyebrows still knitted in confusion, will try to say something about not rushing off and ‘what's all this then’ but Natalie Portman cuts in to wave Mark off as if she can predict Jason’s actions too.

 

"It was good to see you again, Mark, after all these years. I think Facebook is _still_ saying something about our social network, you know." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and Mark thought of the moment he'd realized what made her beautiful was how real she was. _Real_. Mark wants that. "And please, call me Natalie."

"Natalie," Mark says without preamble, reaching out for her, brushing her wrist quickly, gently, with three of his fingers. "Thank you."

She nods once more and smiles, a beautiful, soft smile that plays around the corners of her mouth. Mark turns and walks away, striding across the room to reach his destination.

++

He'll pull Wardo aside, grab him by the elbow maybe, tell him they have to talk, tell him Natalie Portman sent him. That's what he'll do. And he'll figure out what, exactly, he wants to say once he's saying it.

That's the vague plan, anyway, until he's within just a few feet of Wardo and he watches him throw his head back and laugh, smiling at a woman standing next to him, as if he hasn't a care in the world, as if he wasn't dreading getting the banal handshake with Mark out of the way because he hadn't even thought of it or _thought of Mark_ because why would he, really?

Mark freezes, feels unutterably stupid. He's got to get out of here before this becomes even more humiliating. He looks around the room, frenetically, locks in on the first door he sees and takes off for it with a less than graceful lope. He pushes through it, sees stairs in front of him and starts climbing. This is good, this is farther away. If he can just keep moving, if he just doesn't look back, it'll be like that never happened and Eduardo didn't see him stop and stare and run away and - he keeps climbing until he reaches another door, a dead end. He bursts out onto a rooftop terrace. The cold night air feels good on his hot face and he closes his eyes, leans into the brisk wind. _None of that happened, none of that happened, none of that happened_ he repeats it over and over to himself.

Then Mark hears it, a sound so soft it's almost imperceptible: the faint click of the door he'd just burst through opening then latching closed. "Mark?" It's Wardo's voice, not angry but not flat and colorless. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Nothing." Mark doesn't turn to face him, can't.

"Bullshit!" Wardo's voice _is_ angry now. "You were coming over to do that stupid thing where you feel obliged to shake my hand and then you just - you stopped and ran away. What the fuck was that?"

Mark wants to fight. Mark wants to say, " _It's not stupid, I AM obliged to shake your hand so the whole world knows what a not-big deal it is that we're in the same industry and have stock in the same company and I didn't run away."_ But more than that, Mark wants to get away. He wants to get away from feeling this way - this unfocused and jangly. That means no fighting, just moving. He turns and quickly and won't let his eyes meet Eduardo's. "It was nothing," Mark repeats and then moves forward, towards the door.

He'll yank the door open and walk down the stairs casually, as if he hasn't a care in the world, and then he's leaving this party and he doesn't care what Jason _or_ Natalie Portman says and going back to his hotel room and coding until he can't move.

Only when he pulls on the door handle it won't budge. He tugs and even pushes and it won't move. They're locked up there together. "Just perfect," he hears Eduardo mutter under his breath and Mark knows how he feels.

Mark's already fumbling with his phone, ready to text his assistant, or Jason, or every single person he knows in London. They'll come get them out of this and in the meantime he and Eduardo can just pretend none of this is happening. " _At least_ ," Mark has the temerity to think. " _At least it can't get_ worse."

Of course, that is when it starts raining.

++

It starts with just a few big fat droplets that Mark wants to pretend are a figment of his imagination, but it only takes a few seconds and a few big gusts of wind for it to pick up into a full London thunderstorm, complete with ominous clouds in the distance and great, jagged streaks of lightning.

Mark pulls uselessly at the door again and then spares a sideways glance at Wardo, whose shoulders have slumped as the rain pours down. It's a sight so familiar to Mark he feels a sharp, unnamable sting in his chest. Watching Wardo's hair get stuck to his forehead all over again it's - it gives him a moment of temporary madness, it really must. That's the only explanation for why, still staring at Wardo, he is compelled to blurt "This, uhm, this must be our fate or something, right?"

"You don't believe in fate." Eduardo's voice is dull again, not angry or curious anymore, just resigned. It matches the line of his slumped shoulders, the way Mark sees he's hunching in on himself. The sudden wash of rain hasn't just soaked Eduardo, it's almost like it's broken him. The sight makes Mark stomach clench uncomfortably.

So he tells the truth. It feels like the least he can do. "No, I don't."

And, just like that, Eduardo hunches in on himself even tighter, shuddering a little - as if that's exactly what he expected Mark to say but it hurt _anyway_. "It's just _rain_ ," he half-mutters, his voice faltering on the last word.

But now there's one thing Mark knows for sure. It's not just rain. It's never been just rain. And he can't - he can't - he doesn't _want_ to pretend anymore.

" _Just_ rain?" Mark points up at the sky, blinks through the rain streaming down his face. "That doesn't sound like the guy who made Facebook's start-up money by watching weather patterns."

Eduardo's eyes go wide and Mark knows he's taken him by surprise. Mark knows he's not supposed to say "Facebook" or talk about what Eduardo's connection to it or indicate he knows anything about Eduardo. That's not what casual acquaintances do, after all.

"I didn't -" Eduardo starts, shaking his head, sending water flying.

"You _did_ ," Mark interrupts, his voice suddenly sure. "It was you - watching the sky and weather and rain and - it was _you_."

It feels so fucking good to say that. The truth of it all: without Eduardo's money, without that moment Eduardo handed over his money and said, “ _Yeah, let’s do this_ ,” there would be no Facebook. Mark never wanted to fight about that, Mark never wanted anyone to forget that.

"Don't. Please," Eduardo steps back from him, splashes a little in a puddle. He reaches out his hand and shakes it in a stop gesture. "Mark, please. Not now, I'm -"

But Mark goes on, Mark can't stop now. "No. Without you, I couldn't have done it. Do you understand that? Without you - it was you, Wardo."

 _Wardo_. If Mark thought it felt good to say that Wardo had helped make Facebook happen it was nothing compared to the feeling of saying _Wardo_ again. It rolled off his tongue without a thought. Wardo heard it, gasped a little, wiped the rain off his face and kept his eyes covered.

"Don't do this, Mark. Not now. Not when I'm starting to -" his voice is ragged. He drops his hand, stares at Mark with a hysterical look.

"I wanted you to believe in - in - Facebook as much as you did at the beginning. It felt like you were just _washing away_!" Mark throws his hands up, feels the rain trickle through his fingers. He thinks back to that night out in front of the rental house, the way he felt Wardo slipping away from him, from Facebook.

"You wouldn't come to California, you wouldn't _listen_! You didn't _believe_ anymore and- and -" Mark gasps, the words are barreling out, he can't stop. "You believed _first_. And then you, you _froze the account_ and you shouldn't have! But I shouldn't-"

"Mark, _please_!" Wardo is almost shouting, Mark hears a reedy desperation in his voice, but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop.

"I shouldn't have let you sign."

For a split-second, Mark feels _free_ , completely unfettered. _I shouldn't have let you sign_ \- Mark can practically see the words flying up into the black night, into the rain. It's like lancing a wound - getting all the sickness out.

But then Mark looks at Wardo. All the color has drained from his face and his eyes are wide. "You - you didn't _let_ me sign," he seethes. "You _tricked_ me! You _lied_! You said 'we did it' and you said - you said - you needed me." Wardo's voice starts out angry, but ends in what Mark can only describe as anguish.

"No," Mark says, quickly, shaking his head, feeling the rainwater roll down his the back of his neck as if for the first time. "No! It wasn't ever a trick!" Mark shouts. "I mean, I **was** angry! I was angry at you for freezing the account, for not believing that I - I _did_ need you. I wanted to show you that if you - if you didn't believe - if you didn't want to be part of Facebook I'd -"

"I never gave a fuck about Facebook!" Wardo screams, interrupting him.

Mark's shaking, he's shaking so hard. He knows it has nothing to do with the rain, but he feels so cold, he feels a chill all the way down to his bones. His hates his voice for shaking. "That was the whole problem! You never gave a fuck about -"

A dawning look of realization crosses Wardo's face. "Oh Mark," he says, softly, as if he suddenly understands a great mystery. "Mark - _you are not Facebook_."

Mark bites his bottom lip, closes his eyes, feels only the rain on his skin. It's too much. He can't let it in - he can't let it in.

Wardo's voice is certain now, that old tone that didn't allow for argument. "I should have told you - I should have come to California."

Mark opens his eyes in the rain, lets it _all_ in.

He knows what he's going to do.

++

It's only a few steps between him and Wardo. At first, he thinks about grabbing Eduardo's shoulders or his arms, their familiar old gestures. He'll pull at his elbow maybe, or reach out for this shoulders. But that's not what Mark wants. Not at all.

No, Mark wants to wrap his arms around Wardo's waist, wants to pull him close with careful deliberation in a way that's _more_ than friendly, not just brotherly. He brushes a clump of wet hair out of his eyes and crosses those few steps.

Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around Wardo's waist, pulls him close. He feels Wardo's $1,000 suit (maybe it costs more. It's not like Mark's up on suit prices.) but it's so wet under his fingers it could be the thin dress shirt he was wearing back in Harvard that first time they stared at each other in the rain. He hears an echo of Wardo's voice: _I wanted you to_. Mark wants to hear that again, Mark wants to hear it without the bitterness and regret, Mark wants to hear it in a laugh, whispered into his ear, accompanied by a smile.

Wardo has let Mark pull him close, wrap his arms around his waist, but he's still motionless and Mark is afraid that maybe - maybe - but then Wardo takes a shuddery breath and reaches out to snake his arms around Mark's neck.

They stand there for a second, holding each other, feeling the rain, in silence.

"Wardo," Mark finally breathes, unable to take another second, tasting the rain.

"Mark," Wardo says back, and Mark's never heard anyone say his name that way Wardo does: that way that's a little bit of frustration, a little bit of pride, a little bit of indulgence, and even a little bit of _longing_ , an emotion Mark never liked to put a name to before but that now makes his stomach do flip-flops of _longing_ right back.

"Wardo, I - I think maybe I believe in fate now."

Wardo makes a small, helpless sound. Maybe it's a laugh, maybe it's a sigh, maybe it's a gasp of disbelief; maybe it's a combination of all those sounds at once. And it sounds _so_ fucking good to Mark.

Mark's going to kiss him, _finally_ , all those years after that night on the Harvard commons, the night it first really occurred to Mark that he had _power_. Mark's going to kiss him. He tilts his face up to Wardo's, feels the rain stream down. Wardo's giving him a half-lidded gaze that makes Mark's heart jolt in his chest. Mark's going to kiss him.

It's because of how loud his pulse is pounding; sending the blood rushing through his ears, that Mark doesn't hear the _click_ that means the terrace door behind him is opening. Wardo, though, he sees and hears it and he jumps back, as if the rainwater has turned scalding hot, out of Mark's arms.

"Oh, uhm, sorry, gentlemen," Mark hears the door-opener stutter, his English accent lilting. "I didn't know anyone - um - the hotel sent me to check on the terraces in the storm and I - um."

Wardo is looking at Mark with shocked disbelief, shaking the rainwater off, shaking his head as if to repeat without words _no no no_. Mark wants to spin around and snarl at the stuttering hotel employee - ask him if he has a Facebook account and if he has any idea what's about to happen to it - but he doesn't want to look away from Wardo, he wants to hold his gaze until he'll stop shaking his head, until he'll get that soft look again, until he'll _believe_ again.

But before Mark can do or say _anything_ , Wardo pushes past him, past the employee who is standing in the doorway, pushes back into the hotel.

Mark turns and looks at Wardo, standing inside the hotel, a puddle already gathering around his feet. His face is in silhouette but Mark knows he's staring back out at him, through the haze of rain.

"Wardo - " he calls, finding his voice, not willing to leave things unsaid.

But Wardo stiffens up, shakes his head again, and disappears, out of Mark's sight, down the stairs.

The rain is unrelenting.

+ _Singapore_ +

Mark's not quite sure how he gets back to his hotel room. He doesn't remember sloshing out of the hotel and throwing a huge wad of money at a cab driver but he must've, because the next thing he knows he's standing in his hotel room in a sloppy puddle, shuddering, his suit ruined. He shucks off his clothes and huddles under a blanket. He can't get dry, he can't get warm.

++

He dozes off for three hours, wakes up to see a clock face blinking 1:00 AM. He knows he won't go back to sleep. He pulls his laptop over, starts running code and doesn't stop until his phone starts buzzing four and half hours later. It's a message from his personal assistant Janice. _Good morning Mr. Zuckerberg. I will be at your hotel room in one hour. Remember you are opening the conference this morning. Be prepared!_

He stands under the hot spray of the shower and hates the feel of water on his skin.

++

The keynote goes well, he guesses. He doesn't remember most of it. There's the usual "connect the world" and "make information free" and "social networks" party line. He believes it all, he always has, and he doesn't want to think about how the _connect the world_ tastes like ashes in his mouth.

It's all over by 10:00 AM. He takes his laptop into a room Janice has secured for him before anyone can try to stop him or even look at him. His flight isn't leaving until the evening and he's already checked out of the hotel so he plans to wire in and shut out the world until then.

It's only supposed to be code, but before he knows it, a few keystrokes have him looking through hotel registration records for Wardo's name. This won't take long. _limit to four star luxury hotels within a ten mile radius of the main conference headquarters_. Eduardo checked out the night before. He didn't even spend the night.

It almost as if by the time Mark got around to looking for him he was already gone.

++

He slouches into Natalie Portman's panel later that afternoon, hiding in the back with his hoodie pulled up over his head. He's not quite sure why he's there, he can't focus on anything that's being said. He tries to follow the thread about how microlending will change the world on a small-scale first-hand-basis and technology can help distribute funds more effectively, more evenly, and he just wants to close his eyes and have all of this be _over_ and -

"I think the main question that got me involved was," Natalie Portman says, her voice cutting into Mark's rambling thoughts. "how long would we all sit around, complacent, and do nothing? How long would any of us wait before deciding that we knew what the right thing was and thus we had the responsibility to act?"

There's a smattering of applause from the room and Mark feels her words as if they're a shock of electricity under his skin.

He sneaks out of the back of the room and pulls his phone from his pocket.  He's not letting Wardo slip away again and he's not going to be complacent any more.

++

It didn't even occur to him to tell anyone where he was going until he found himself at Heathrow. He'd barely escaped Janice, who'd been trailing him and giving him worried looks since she'd knocked on his door at 6:30, noted the thin line his mouth was drawn into and said, knowingly, "Oh no, did the required casual handshake really go _that_ bad?"

As he's boarding, Mark decides to text her so she won't call Scotland Yard and send Sherlock Holmes after him. _Get my luggage back to CA, please.[I had to go see about a guy.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zoPT4p1Iwg4)_ He's pressed send before he can really consider the implications of the message, but the phone is vibrating with a response almost immediately. _I'll book a hotel for you in Singapore and have a car waiting. Get some sleep when you get there!_ Settling into his first-class seat, Mark decides to give Janice a huge raise. His phone vibrates again. _And it's about time, Mr. Zuckerberg![How do you like them apples](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sf0OFZexRGs), indeed! ;)_ OK, maybe just a regular sized-raise.

++

It's 2 AM the next day (or the day before? Mark's not quite sure anymore) by the time he shuffles off the plane in Singapore with nothing more than his laptop bag. Janice has a car and driver waiting with his usual fake name (Durden) and Mark collapses in the backseat. He's tempted to tell the driver to take him directly to Wardo's apartment building but he's not sure he can actually form coherent words, so he lets himself be chauffeured to a hotel where the concierge takes him right up to his room _You're already all checked in, sir, please enjoy your stay with us._ and he collapses, unthinking into bed. He knows he only has a few hours to sleep.

++

He dreams of oceans, rivers, and rain.

++

Mark knows that if Wardo's going to work, he will be at his desk at precisely 8:00 AM. And Mark knows that Wardo _is_ going to work because, really, he and Wardo aren't that different when it comes to using work as a way to distract yourself. (That's another one of those things Mark should have recognized much earlier. Mark thinks that maybe Wardo wasn't just riding subways for 14 hours a day to try to make Facebook work but to lose himself in how it felt like Mark was slipping away. Work, whether it's strings of codes or investment pitches, can take you away from having to think about things like that.)

So, Wardo is going to be at work and Mark is not going to try, like, getting past his receptionist and making an appointment. Seeing as how Wardo jumped a few continents to get away from Mark in London, Mark's not taking any chances now, he has to use the element of surprise. Mark estimates that Wardo will be leaving his apartment no later than 7:00, which is why Mark is currently outside Wardo's fucking apartment building at 6:30 AM, still jet-lagged and bouncing from foot to foot, freezing cold in the misty, rising dawn.

 ++

 ****"Wardo," Mark says the minute he walks out the glass front doors and steps onto the sidewalk.

He freezes and looks, for a second, like he might run back into the building. Mark sees his body tense up as he turns, slowly to look at him.

"You've got to be kidding me," he gives a small, tight shake of his head. Wardo walks over to where Mark is standing; stops right in front of him and gives him a terse glare. Mark sees jet-lag and bone-deep exhaustion in his eyes. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"What do you think? You ran off and I - we weren't -"

"I think," Wardo cuts him off, his voice distant. "I think you're mistaken about what happened."

"You _know_ I'm not."

"Mark!" Wardo's voice is shrill and he moves to step back, but Mark steps right along with him and then Wardo takes a deep breath and tries again, tries with a more level voice. "Mark you can't realistically think we could ever make anything work."

He's genuinely puzzled. "Why not?"

Wardo gives him a look that suggests he thinks Mark might have a concussion. He speaks slowly.  "Why not? Because - it doesn't work that way."

Now it's Mark's turn to wonder if it’s Wardo has the concussion. "We - we made Facebook take off from my dorm room with nothing but your summer money and my code. We're _billionaires_ and we're not even 30 and we never sold out and we changed the fucking _world_. Don't you get it? We can make it work any way we want."

"That's not the same, Mark," Wardo says and his voice sounds so fucking sad that it makes Mark afraid in an entirely new way. "Things have happened between us that we can't ever -"

Wardo steps back, quicker this time, and Mark feels colder than ever as the early morning wind whips around them.

"We have too much history," Wardo continues, looking away from Mark, up towards the sky. "We can't undo it. It's as useless as - as - trying to stop the tide or – or control the weather!"

He says it with such pure, anguished conviction that Mark almost, _almost_ , wants to turn and walk away. But that's when he hears the first clap of thunder.

++

"No. This absolutely _cannot_ be happening," Wardo's voice is a disbelieving whisper.

But by the time Wardo's finished _happening_ the clouds Mark had written off as a pre-sunrise aberration have opened up and rain is falling.

"I should have known. If I was watching, if I was paying attention, I would have seen the storm coming in and I could have -" Wardo is muttering to himself, looking up towards the sky, refusing to meet Mark's eyes.

Mark thinks back to that night in the rain at Harvard, that moment of realization that swept over him: the feeling that he could do _anything_ , even though he wasn't precisely sure what _anything_ entailed. He felt it again, but he wasn't 19 and scared anymore and he _did_ know what anything could be.

Nothing has ever felt better on Mark's skin than this rain.

Nothing except what he's about to do next.

++

No more conversations, no more semantics, no more missed signals, no more arguments, no more chances to run, no more interruptions. _No more_.

It takes Mark two steps to reach up and grab Wardo's face in his hands. He pulls him down and relishes a split second of staring at the way the rain is trailing down Wardo's face, the way he blinks raindrops.

And then he is kissing him.

Kissing him as he's wanted to for _years_ , reaching up to press their wet mouths together, kissing his as the rain comes down and he holds his face steady and finally, finally, finally - he's kissing Wardo.

And Wardo is not kissing back.

++

Mark presses his mouth even closer, licks at Wardo's mouth, asking without words to be let in, to be kissed back. Wardo stands immobile in the rain and makes no move to embrace him.

Mark does the one thing he hates to above all others, the very last thing he planned to do: he lets go.

He takes a step back and stares at Wardo, who still has his eyes shut. The wind picks up and blows a gust of rain over him that feels like needles dancing over his skin. Mark thinks that this is _worse_ , a hundred times worse, than all the times he _almost_ kissed Wardo in the rain because now, now, he knows.

The thought that had run through his mind with exhilaration only moments before now crashes through him with bitter certainty. _No more_.

He turns and walks away without another word.

++

"Mark!" Wardo's voice, high and thin, carried on the wind, stops him.

Logically, with the part of his brain that's served him so well his whole life; he knows that he should simply keep walking. There _is_ too much history between them, too many missed chances, a few billion dollars and a deal that can never be undone a signature will never go away. That's all right, that's all true. They're not the same people they were back in Harvard, back when there was a night when everything was possible.

But Mark - Mark wants to be _conscious_ for it. He thinks of Wardo's frustrated, angry eyes all those years ago the night he'd tracked him down in Widener. He thinks of the night of FaceMash, Wardo sliding over to him, face open - _I'm here for you_. He thinks of the whispered _you had one friend_ and all the implications that went unsaid with it.

He wants someone to track him down.

He stops and turns, faces Wardo in the rain as if for the first time.

"I - I thought I was - I don't know how to -" Wardo stumbles over the words.

There's an endless moment of silence and staring, Mark doesn’t trust himself to speak.

There is only rain.

And then, in a flash he's not sure is _real_ , Mark sees an old, familiar look cross Wardo's face. It's that look that Wardo thought Mark never noticed: a look of wonder and exasperation all rolled into one. “ _That looks good, that looks really good,"_ Wardo had exhaled into his neck the second Facebook went live and Mark saw it then, Wardo’s eyes shining, telling Mark without words that he was brilliant and precious and it had nothing to do with the site, that Mark was amazing because he was _Mark._

It's not quite a smile, it's not quite a smirk, but it's something that means Wardo is _seeing him_ , really seeing him in a way no one else ever did or does.

Wardo tries to brush the wet hair back from his forehead but it's too heavy from the rain. He shrugs, looks right into Mark's eyes and, for the first time, doesn't try to hide that familiar look. He just looks at Mark as if - as if he can't get enough of the sight of him.

It's better than a smile and the sight of it makes Mark's skin is burn so hot with something that feels like hope and something that feels like anticipation that he can't quite believe there's still rain pouring down.

Wardo jerks a thumb roughly at the sky and asks Mark, his tone never wavering, "D'you wanna make out in the rain?"

++

Mark nods, firmly. Without a second's hesitation he knows his response. It's simple and it's perfect and it says everything that needs to be said.

"Yup."

Then he's walking towards Wardo or maybe Wardo's walking towards him or who the fuck knows it's not even ten steps and they are wrapped up in each other, soaking wet in an early Singapore morning, the sun barely up, literally 9,000 miles from where this all started. This time it's Wardo who wraps his arms around Mark's waist and Mark who reaches up to encircle Wardo's neck with his arms and he pulls him forward until their mouths meet and Wardo gives a breathy half-sigh and then it's only lips and tongues and the wetness of their mouths meeting the rain. Mark tastes the rain mixed up with the taste of Wardo and it's perfect, exactly perfect.

++

About five minutes later they're not-so-unintentionally jostled by an angry morning commuter who doesn't appreciate the two crazy men making out and blocking sidewalk traffic in the middle of a downpour.

Mark reluctantly breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to Wardo's, listens to their gasping breathing, knows their hearts are racing in time. There's a second's echo of that night in Palo Alto when everything went wrong, when Wardo didn't believe, when everything started breaking apart, and Mark closes his eyes to brace against the pain of it but then Wardo leans forward and gently kisses his eyelids and says, sweetly, the lightest sing-song in his voice, ["What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again."](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1ZYhVpdXbQ)

Mark feels the rain, lets a smile curl around his lips, and knows he's done thinking of when everything went wrong. He's ready to experience everything that's going to go right instead.

"I believe in - in - _this_." Mark murmurs.

"Me too, Mark. Me too." Wardo's voice is gentle as the rain.

 _+Epilogue_ +

"Come inside," Wardo tugs at his arm, directing him back towards his building.

Mark watches a streak of water run down Wardo's cheek. "But I like the rain," Mark protests.

"Don't get me wrong, I like the rain too. But," Wardo pulls him close, licks the rainwater off his ear. "I have a private balcony that'll be just as rainy and I want - I _need_ \- to get your clothes off."

Mark shudders and pushes Wardo forward.

++

They spend three days in Wardo's apartment: sleeping off the jet-lag, ordering in from Wardo's favorite restaurants, watching movies, catching up on the every day details of each other's lives, and, of course, making love in every room: kissing until their lips hurt from it, laughing, touching, learning every inch of each other, saying all the things they'd spent years being afraid to say.

Mark's not quite sure _how_ they're going to make it work but he's more convinced than ever that they _will_.

++

On the fourth day, Mark's sprawled out in bed with the laptop he had Janice messenger to Wardo's apartment checking on some new site features and taking care of some details when Wardo walks into the room and gives Mark a look of pure affection and adoration. Mark wonders when that'll stop making his stomach jump with happiness. (He's kinda hoping the answer is "never.")

"What's happening this morning?" Wardo asks, because he's not afraid to talk about Facebook, because why would he be? It's just part of their story, after all, and a pretty damn cool part too. ( _A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, two best friends fell in love and had a great idea. . ._ )

"I just gave Natalie Portman's microlending project $10 million and invited her to dinner when we're all back in California. Are you OK with that?"

Wardo grins. "I'll match it. And I'll cook, how's that sound?"

"Excellent, I think she'll really like that. So, what was in the paper this morning?"

"Ah, well, I was checking some of my investments in the European market and, of course, monitoring the weather..." Wardo trails off, quirks an eyebrow, looks towards the large glass doors that open out onto his private balcony.

"Oh?" Mark says, a note of teasing in his voice.

"Yeah, it looks like there's a big storm forecast for later today."

Mark clicks the laptop shut, pushes it aside. All that can wait, after all. He scoots to the edge of the bed, swings his feet down, reaches out for Wardo's hands. Wardo laces their fingers together, pulls Mark up into an embrace.

"What luck," Mark says, breathing into Wardo's neck, unable to stop the joy in his voice. "That's my favorite kind of weather."

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt over in the tsn_kinkmeme for an anon who wanted a fic based on [this amazing .gif](http://-andrews.tumblr.com/post/4248386354). I couldn't resist! Special thanks to Nami for the "rainstorming" and [Mandy](http://-andrews.tumblr.com/), the gif-maker. And, of course, to everyone who left comments and encouragement over in the meme, y'all rocked my socks off and kept me writing...as usual.


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